


i feel like a mourning star

by badAquatic



Series: Trailerstuck [64]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/F, F/M, Graphic Depiction of Attempted Suicide, Illustrated, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Past Character Death, Past Relationship(s), Past Suicide Attempt, Recreational Drug Use, Wakes & Funerals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-26
Updated: 2014-09-26
Packaged: 2018-02-18 20:04:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2360567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badAquatic/pseuds/badAquatic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Intermission 3: So what happened between Kurloz and Porrim on their mother's funeral anyways? </p><p>Partially takes placing during "everything in low motion".</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the killing

**Author's Note:**

> “Shoo, fly, don't bother me,  
> For I belong to somebody.  
> I feel, I feel, I feel like a morning star.”

**== >Present Porrim: Be Porrim a year into the past**

 

During the funeral, you come to the conclusion that the world doesn’t care if your mother dies. The rain will still fall. The birds will still chirp. The sun will still shine and it will be just as bright and cloudless on a warm autumn day as if she was alive. It’s a beautiful day and your mother can’t enjoy it, because she’s under a small mountain of wood.

Its traditional for the eldest child to light the pyre but Kurloz isn’t in any shape to do it. You step forward, clutching the bundle of smoldering sticks. Your mother’s pyre is very ornate, covered in the red flowers. Most of them are roses and carnelians; popping out against the grey-brown of the wood.

“Kanaya Maryam was a jadeblood but she had a heart of carnelian, as crimson as murder on a holy day.” you say, “Her anger was a like a phoenix, fiery, consuming and resuming itself, and her love as cool and boundless as the ocean. Time’s Clockworks, please accept another soul into your realm.”

 

 

You light the pyre. You hadn’t wanted too many theatrics at your mother’s funeral. Your mother didn’t have a religion but all you know is Alternian mythology and Alternian prayers, so you’re sticking with that. Some of the dolors clap for you, admiring the pretty words despite them being of a rival religion. Their faces are bony and their hands callused from roughing it in the countryside of Raffil and Leder. Their eyes are all moist and they whisper Marchist prayers for your mother.

Everyone has already spoken a few words about your mother, except for Kurloz and Kanaya. Kanaya can’t stop crying and Aranea is consoling her because you can’t consol anybody. You broke the news to her so awkwardly. You could have done better than blurting “Grandma Maryam died.” to her over dinner, like a malfunctioning stereo.

And Kurloz is…

Kurloz looks like someone cut him open, yanked out his insides, and tried to put it back with children’s glue. He looks so strung out and withered, like he’d been left to air-dry on a laundry line. He’s been out of prison for three years and still coping with the shock of freedom. Everyone gives him space because they’re scared he’ll flip out. He hasn’t flipped out, not yet anyways. He hasn’t even cried and you question if he’s doped up or simply tuned out.

You wish you could do the same.

Kurloz wanders away before the funeral ends. You walk after him, hoping he’s not going to do something stupid. The cemetery boundaries are swampy and a hazard for a distracted wanderer. You chase him through the woods, pushing aside white cedar and black spruce branches. You lose him though and return to the funeral pyre before you’re lost as well.

You wait at the pyre to see if Kurloz returns but he doesn’t. People leave once the pyre starts burning away. Meulin and Nepeta leave without him, figuring he’ll turn up sooner or later. Kanaya leaves with Aranea to spend the night with her mother. She needs her mother’s support and maternal warmth

You just feel cold; cold as your father’s blood.

The pyre burns for hours. You stand alone, on the only dry patch of land in the boggy cemetery. Your mother had left a long will. Her money was divided, with half of it going to the Marchist church and the other half for Kanaya’s future. Kanaya and you inherited her fabrics, books, jewels, and other precious items. She requested to be buried along with her companions, in the secluded marshlands near Darkleer Manor.

When it all burns away, you gather the ashes. It’s a tedious job. The sun is setting, the mosquitoes are eating you alive, but you gather what remains of your mother. You deposit it in a jade-tinted urn and lower it into the plot. In the warm autumn evening, you bury your mother, the Dolorosa. You bury her between the Psionic and the Signless.

She didn’t specify where she wanted to be placed but you think she would prefer it that way.

You count the funerary plaques, arranged in a circle. Your parents picked out where they would be buried but never who would be next to whom. Each plaque is different in design and phrase.

The Psionic was the first to die. His plaque bears his caste symbol and _To our eternal shame_. You’re not sure who bears the most of that shame in his sudden and violent death.

Darkleer’s is poetic, picked out by his surviving matesprit: _Gone yet not forgotten, Although we are apart, Your spirit lives within me, Forever in my heart._

The Handmaid has East Beforan with the translation underneath: _Holding back the night, with its increasing brilliance, the summer moon._ You don’t know what that means, though that could be a cultural barrier.

The Summoner has a butterfly engraved on it with _“To die would be an awfully big adventure!”_ There are no dates because there was no body.

The Disciple is the most simple, only the dates of her death and an ink pen inscribed in the plaque.

The Signless is the most ornate, with special carvings and floral decorations, reading: _A bridge of silver wings stretches from the dead ashes of an unforgiving nightmare to the jeweled vision of a life started anew. For hearts rebuilt from hope resurrect dreams killed by hate._

Redglare’s is simple and ominous: _“See you soon!”_ The woman always had a twisted sense of humor.

You didn’t have a special phrase placed on your mother’s plaque. It has no pretty words, just dates and floral carvings like she would want. It’ll be completed and installed on Monday.

You leave the cemetery, covered with mosquito bites but eyes still dry. You go home and apply lotion to your bites. You change into a lacey slip and preoccupy yourself. You water your plants and tend your garden.

Your mother brought back native plants from Raffil and you’ve been trying to cultivate them in New Jack along with Alternian marijuana. In your room, you have _cannabis alternia_ growing alongside _manilkara mayarnensis_ and _zamia pygmaea._ On occasion you give Rufioh gardening tips. Its not much but it keeps his mind off of Tavros. Ever since he’s returned home, he’s mutated into a different person; a complete stranger from the smiling brownblood he raised.

You water your plants and attempt to sleep but sleep doesn’t come to you. You consider turning up the sopor on your recuperacoon, but its too dangerous. Addiction runs in your family. You smoke some of Rufioh’s weed, mellowing out in your bedroom. You stare at the wall, seeing your mother’s slacken face in your shadow. Her face after you pulled the plug on her oxygen machine.

There’s a clatter in the kitchen. Your backdoor is being forced open. Heavy footsteps cross your kitchen. You get the metal baseball bat you always keep in your room for such a situation and enter the living room. Kurloz is lying on the couch. He stinks of alcohol and run-off water. There’s dirt on his pants and gravel in his hair.

You kneel next to him. “Kurloz.”

Kurloz looks at you. His eyes are bloodshot and his paint is smeared. He tries to sign but he’s too confused and drunk. He gives up and grabs your dress strap, trying to pull you close. He snaps it instead.

Then he falls off the couch like a clumsy oaf. He tries to sit up but he’s lost all sense of balance.

“What am I going to do with you?” you sigh.

Kurloz shakes his head. He opens his mouth but he retches onto the carpet. You wince because now your living room smells like stomach acid, Faygo, and rotgut liquor. Its like being around your father during Mirth Gras (or any holiday really). Kurloz may share your father’s hemotype but you inherited his alcoholic tolerance. Kurloz has your mother’s. Two drinks and he’s down. He likes to keep up a good front with the other purplebloods but you know he purposely cuts his drinks with copious ice and soda.

Its difficult to drag him from the living room to the bathroom, but he needs to be cleaned up. You can’t have Meulin, Nepeta, or Rufioh come looking for him and Kurloz smells and looks like he just came from a clown crunkfest. Lucky for you, a drunk Kurloz is a docile Kurloz. He doesn’t put up a fight as you strip his clothes and wash him off in the bathtub. You have to sit him up so he doesn’t fall over and drown in the shallow, soapy water.

You put his clothes in a bag to be washed. None of your clothes fit him so you put him in one of Aranea’s old maternity pullover shirts that says ‘FUTURE MILF’. You appreciate the irony since Kurloz sterilized his eggsack during his prison stay, just like so many others.

You drag him to your bedroom and put him on the daybed. He’s too big for it so you have to fold his legs to keep him on it. You clean up the mess in the living room. Its not much since Kurloz apparently didn’t eat much while chugging that awful Faygo-and-liquor mixture. You check the back lock and see Kurloz broke it. You put a chair against the door for safety and return to the bedroom. Kurloz is still sleeping and his hair is a wet, tangled mess.

You put his head in your lap and brush his hair, discarding dirt and gravel. You undo three quarters of the tangles until Kurloz grabs your wrist. He looks up at you, squinting.

“How do you feel?” you ask.

He looks away and there’s a faint blush on his cheeks.

“You broke my back lock trying to get in. I have no idea what you were trying to do but you managed to throw up on my living room floor and pass out. I don’t know what else you did tonight but I bet it was something stupid.”

Kurloz grumbles and releases your wrist. You bend down and kiss his forehead, which turns his face purple. You laugh, “Are you embarrassed to have your big sister kiss you?”

<<YOU SAW ME NAKED!>> Kurloz is still buzzed and his signing is slow and sloppy.

“I used to see you naked all the time.”

<<THIS IS DIFFERENT!>>

“You were covered in bugs, puke, mud, and dirt, Kurloz. You were ruining my sofa with your gross misery.”

<<YOU DIDN’T TOUCH ME DID YOU?>>

“I know you’ve only been out of Amethyst for three years but seriously?” Kurloz looks at you, unsure. “ _Seriously_? What kind of troll do you think I am? I wouldn’t violate your _consent_ , Kurloz, and I’m not so desperate to cop a feel on my drunken twin after our mother’s funeral. I’m not a _monster_.”

And you’re certainly not your father either.

Kurloz looks unconvinced. <<YOU’RE ALWAYS TEASING ME. EVERYONE THINKS WE’RE FUCKING.>>

“Everyone thinks _all_ twins fuck. Even the _human_ ones, as preposterous as that seems. It doesn’t mean _we_ have to.”

<<YOU ARE ATTRACTIVE>>—and you’re not sure if that’s honesty or the remaining alcohol egging him on—“BUT I LOOK AT YOU AND I SEE MOTHER’S FACE. IT JUST REMINDS ME THAT I…I KILLED HER, POR…>>

He hasn’t called you ‘Por’ in years. His face is a mask of pain. Rage, sorrow, and guilt blend together and lavender tears run down his face. You cradle him in a soothing embrace.

“Kurloz. Kurloz. Kurloz, _shhh_.” you whisper, gently, “You didn’t kill Mom. She was sick for a very long time.”

And he was in prison for most of that time. When Kurloz got out, he didn’t visit. He couldn’t. He failed to stay out of trouble involving the Brotherhood and to not go down the path of your father. Now he was scarred, mute, and a stranger to his daughter. He was shifting from job to job and trying to cope with being outside that monstrous prison. The first year was the worst, filled with the constant nightmares and paranoia. He had insomnia and would only sleep on his back porch, afraid of enclosed spaces and darkness. Even his bedroom was too much.

What experiments he was subjected to, you don’t know and you’re afraid to ask for details.

You hold your battered brother. You shush him even though this is Rufioh’s job. You should call the bronzeblood but you’re scared to leave Kurloz alone. You’re afraid he’ll cut his wrists and that’ll be the end. Rufioh already interrupted one attempt during the second year. They swore a pale-pact not to tell Meulin about it. You only found out because Rufioh called you to help clean Kurloz’s wounds and hide the evidence.

It didn’t stop his self-harm though. It reached its peak during the third year and just started ebbing out.

You fall asleep holding him, feeling the chill of his body against yours and letting him know he’s safe here.

A strange sensation wakes you. Its dark in the trailer and the sun hasn’t risen. Kurloz’s bulge is rubbing against your leg.

“Kurloz?” You touch the side of his face. “Kurloz, _wake up_.”

He gives a predatory growl and his face is flushed. Before you can tell him to snap out of it, Kurloz leans forward and brushes against the side of your face. He’s purring.

In retrospect, all your jokes about Oedipus were on point.

Kurloz squeezes your heftsack and you grab his hand. “Kurloz _._ ” He leans in to kiss you and you slap him as hard as you can. “ _Kurloz_!”

That snaps him out of it. Kurloz leans away but doesn’t move very far from you. He’s panting and his bulge is definitely awake and looking for something to rub against or sink into.

“Just because you’re upset Mom died doesn’t mean I’m going to let you hump the pain away, especially when you’re _drunk_.” You say.

<<NOT…DRUNK.>> He signs sloppily.

“You sure as hell aren’t sober.”

His expressions move quickly. First he’s embarrassed by what almost happened and secondly confused by his arousal.  

“I have no issue being your mother. _Someone_ has to watch over you.” You say, gently, “It may as well be me, but if you want to make this choice, do it when you’re _sober_.”

Kurloz frowns but nods. He rests his head in your lap and stays still. You stroke the base of his horns and listen to him purr.

A long time ago Meulin told you to watch over Kurloz in case something happens to her. She knows her lifespan isn’t going to be as long and she’s already deaf. She’s always afraid of what will happen to him when she’s not around anymore.

You’re afraid as well.


	2. someone to watch over me

**== >Past Porrim: Be present Kurloz**

You are Kurloz and you are lying on the bed. Rufioh is next to you and Porrim is on the other side. Your moirail’s inner thighs are slick with mingled genetic fluid. Meulin is snuggled against your other side, deeply asleep, with your fingers tangled in his hair. You all smell of sweat and pheromones. Only Porrim and you are awake due to your inherited stamina.

<<YOU HAVE GRUB CONTROL RIGHT?>> you ask.

Porrim smirks. “I’m surprised you’d ask me that, condom hater.”

<<I DON’T HATE THEM. THEY’RE JUST NOT COMFORTABLE.>>

“Bullshit.” She stretches her back and you watch the movement of her bare heftsacks. “They fit fine. You just don’t want to _wear_ them so you use that convenient little excuse and Meulin puts up with it.”

You scowl. <<WHO WERE YOU TALKING TO EARLIER?>>

“Kankri came by.” She smiles, “He almost joined us.”

You roll your eyes. Kankri would never join in on this. It brings back too many bad memories. You wonder if you’ll ever be able to consummate pitch with the skittish mutantblood or if you’re just pitching each other because neither of you want the other option.

Or can have it.

“What is it?” Porrim asks. Her voice is gentle because you’re quietly staring at her.  

You hear your mother in that voice.

<<TODAY IS THE DAY SHE DIED,>> you say, <<AND I ALMOST FORGOT THAT. I ALMOST FORGOT THAT OUR MOTHER DIED TODAY, POR, AND INSTEAD I DID THIS. WHY?>>

Porrim sighs and signs back to you. <<KURLOZ, LIFE IS FOR THE LIVING. IF YOU MOURN FOREVER, YOU MAY AS WELL BE DEAD. RUFIOH TOLD YOU THAT A LONG TIME AGO.>>

He had told you that when you tried to commit suicide. He repeated it over and over again as Porrim cleaned your wounds and stitched your wrists.

You had never considered suicide at Amethyst, though you had every reason to do so and several available methods. Falling from great heights rarely worked for purplebloods of your size and resistance and the same went for hanging, drowning, and poison. Cutting always worked best though most trolls preferred suicide by proxy by signing up for the most hazardous experiments. You hadn’t considered suicide because you knew you had a life on the outside. You wanted to see your family one last time before you died. So you concentrated on good behavior and got in the good graces of the prison guards, both honest and corrupt. You helped smuggle drugs, gave them a cut of your contraband earnings, and performed other little favors. Those favors added up to your getting out early.

But once you were out, then what? It was hard to hold onto your new life. Everything slipped through your fingers like water. You didn’t want to go back to the Brotherhood. You didn’t want to stay a criminal, but you couldn’t adapt either. You expected the first year to be the hardest but it was the second year that dragged you through the mud and across the sharp gravel. So many things piled on top of each other and you couldn’t take it anymore.

You were shaving and you had the razor. You were just shaving but there was the razor and so many problems could be solved. Things would have been so much easier if you had just died in prison. Your family could have happily lived off the insurance money from your death.

The first cut wasn’t very deep. It bled but not enough. So you had to do it again. And again. The phone was ringing but you ignored it. Meulin and Nepeta were out at the store and the razor was getting too slippery with your blood for you to handle. You’d never done this before and you hated how much you were shaking. You dropped the razor in the sink and couldn’t get a good grip on it.

You were delirious with blood loss and stirred up emotions that you didn’t hear Rufioh enter the trailer. You just heard a noise and an intruder. You opened the bathroom door and saw Rufioh standing there. Immediately, he was alarmed by the blood, the deep cuts, and blatant evidence of what you failed to do.

But you didn’t soldier through it or the pain. You broke right away and begged for him not to tell Meulin about this but Rufioh was more concerned with your mental health. You hid in his trailer while Porrim stitched you up and concocted excuses for you to stay the night.

You stayed in this very room for a whole night. Now you’ve returned and even though it’s under better circumstances, the memory still hovers around you.

“Kurloz?” Porrim touches the side of your face. You don’t respond and she frowns, pulling on your cheek. “I’m _talking_ to you young man.”

You growl and grab her hand. You bite it. Not very hard, just enough to let her know to not fucking _do_ that. Porrim smiles and leans in close. The weight of the mattress shifts and you’re within kissing distance. Her eyes are half-lidded and her face is flushed.

“You shouldn’t that.” She whispers.

You smirk and lick the blood welling from the bite. She doesn’t flinch, mesmerized by the licking. When you’re this close, you can smell her hormones, which are freshly vegetal compared to the unique smells of Rufioh and Meulin.

“You have a kismesis.” Porrim reminds you, chiding a naughty child.

<<YES.>> You acknowledge but don’t surrender her hand.

Porrim shuts her eyes and sighs. “There are even some things that even I _don’t_ want to do. We’re twins. We’ve shared so many things. If we share anything else, we’ll never let go of each other.”

<<YOU’RE ALREADY SHARING MY QUADRANTS.>>

She takes her hand away and chastely kisses you on the cheek. “I do that because someone has to mother you. Someone has to rear you in when you get out of control. And who will mourn you like a mother if something happens?”

You shut your eyes. You’ve already heard this from Kankri and seen it in pitying looks from Rufioh and Meulin.

<<I HATE YOU.>> you growl.

Porrim smiles sadly and pats you on the cheek. “I know.”

<<I REALLY DO.>> you repeat.

She doesn’t take the pledge seriously. “Kurloz, you have pheromones running your brain. When you leave this room, you’ll get a breath of fresh air and become embarrassed about everything you’ve said.”

You scowl but don’t argue. Rufioh and Meulin are still asleep. You’re too aching and tired to do anything.

No matter how close you are to Porrim there is a line neither of you will cross. The hatred is mutual but the memories make it impossible. She reminds you too much of your mother and you remind her too much of your father.

And in the end, you’re both afraid to be too close.

**Author's Note:**

> I felt bad writing this. Just so people know. 
> 
> Also, the major character death tag is for people who aren't aware that the Dolorosa is dead in the current Trailerstuck continuity. Its not really a spoiler but just so you know.


End file.
